


Quests and Covenants

by lifeaftermeteor



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Battle Couple, Drama, Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Monsters & Mana (Voltron), Romance, brief mention of chopping off tails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:40:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29357379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeaftermeteor/pseuds/lifeaftermeteor
Summary: What does a paladin do when peace prevails and there are no more evils to defeat? Apparently go on a quest for an ancient relic with a new-found traveling companion...and perhaps find love on the way.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 26
Collections: Sheithlentines 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Purrresa ([Twitter](http://twitter.com/purrresa) | [IG](http://instagram.com/purrresa_designs)) requested a Monsters and Mana AU featuring [Paladin](https://www.dndbeyond.com/classes/paladin) Shiro and [Tiefling](https://www.dndbeyond.com/races/tiefling) [Fighter](https://www.dndbeyond.com/classes/fighter) Keith. I have never written something like this, but it was so much fun! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Happy Sheithlentines!

Takashi ‘Shiro’ Shirogane breathed deep, feeling the cool air of the forest around him fill his lungs. Seated on a rocky outcropping worn smooth with time, he meditated. Water cascaded in the roaring torrent of a waterfall before him, crashing into a dark pool far below. Overhead he glimpsed the sky darkening, the vibrant blue of late afternoon painted in reds and golds of oncoming dusk. All around him there was _life_ and _light_. Goodness and peace surrounded him with its gentle embrace...so why did he feel so uneasy? 

Shiro had long since fulfilled his oath of vengeance, defeating the demon that had slayed his master and razed the monastery that had been his childhood home to the ground. The battle had taken all he had, turning his hair silver and taking his right arm in the process. But he had emerged victorious alongside his friends and allies.

But as peace and the forces of light spread across the realm, he had been plagued with nightmares of terrors he had already faced and an itch to _escape_. From what, he could not fathom. Allura had ascended her rightful throne and was now Queen, and they had been blessed that their band of adventurers had survived to see it. As the forces of good tipped the cosmic balance, Shiro had felt his own strength grow. But where he should have drawn comfort, he felt only growing concern. What did a paladin do, when the forces of evil had been so soundly defeated?

Shiro sighed and stood, stretching stiff muscles and hearing his joints pop. He winced and groaned at the noise. _Not even 30 and yet…_ Straightening, he looked up at the falls that towered before him and followed the cascade down, and down, and down… “Beautiful,” he whispered and allowed himself a smile, feeling the life around him offer its solace in return. Gathering his things, he turned to begin his trek back to civilization. 

* * *

“Shiro!” Queen Allura greeted Shiro as he entered the room and strode forward, his armor polished to gleaming. She stood, signalling an unspoken end to the meeting with her inner council, and moved to meet him partway.

“Your majesty, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Shiro began, eyeing the advisors who departed via another door, “Your page—” 

Allura waved off his concern and joined their hands as long-time friends and equals. “In truth you’ve saved me from another rather long discussion on issues we’ve already addressed. The meeting I think is more for their benefit than mine.

“I’m glad you were able to come so quickly,” Allura continued, hooking her arm through his own and leading Shiro towards the far corner of the room. So intentional was her walk, Shiro assumed the corner was the one she had had Block bewitch to shield her from eavesdroppers and spies within her own court. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you privately. I may be in need of your particular skills.”

“A quest?” Shiro asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Indeed.” Safely tucked away from prying eyes and listening ears, Allura turned to face him. “What do you know of the Blade of Marmora?”

“The Blades are fighters, Galra descent,” Shiro began, his gaze turning inward for a time as he considered it. “Forgemasters I think, with swords that change shape. They fought beside us and the Alliance. They are allies to the throne.”

Allura smiled. “What do you know about _the_ Blade of Marmora?”

Shiro’s gaze met hers once more, puzzled. “A legend. An ideal, perhaps. It’s what drew the Mamora together—there isn’t one blade, but many.”

“According to their leader, Kolivan—you remember him?”

“Yes, he fought alongside us.”

Allura nodded and pressed on. “Kolivan reported to me that there is a darkness brewing on our borders. His spies and scouts report that the remnants of the Galra Empire—warlords who would see themselves kings—are searching for a magical relic. For a time, we thought nothing of it. But Kolivan now reports that it is the Blade of Marmora itself. 

“The blade is as ancient as it is powerful,” Allura said. “According to legend, it was placed with Marmora in his tomb—” 

Shiro bristled. “I’m no grave robber.”

“I never said you were,” Allura assured. “There is much at risk if the Galra get to the Blade first. In the right hands, it could keep the realm safe for ages to come. In the wrong hands…”

“In the wrong hands it would unleash great evil,” Shiro concluded. 

Allura worried her lip and nodded again. “We must find the Blade before the Galra do, lest we see war return and take thousands, _millions_ more lives in the process. But we cannot advance with a fighting force or even a scouting party. The ancient Marmora stronghold is within lawless territory riddled with Imperial strongholds. An advance of any size force could spark a conflict. But a single traveler or two...shielded by divine righteousness...perhaps they would be safe long enough to find and secure the blade.” She tightened her grip on Shiro’s hands and looked up into his eyes. “Will you do this for me? For the realm? For all that is good and right?”

Shiro smiled.

* * *

Shiro sat in a dark corner of the tavern, watching the patrons come and go. He only needed one, he kept telling himself, but the pickings were slim. He didn’t recall forming a band of adventurers being this difficult…

Perhaps it was because he could only choose _one_. In order for his abilities to be most effective—and if they were to face certain dangers alone as Queen Allura predicted—then the choice was critical. 

In his satchel was a tightly bound leather folio with the materials Allura and Blade Leader Kolivan offered to aid in his quest. Ancient maps, Galra scripts translated into the Common tongue, which they hoped would put him a step ahead of their enemies. But the truth of that was yet to be seen. Shiro grimaced and took a swig of his warming beer.

A cloaked figure dropped down across from him, and Shiro nearly choked on his drink. Without fanfare or ceremony, the figure kept their eyes averted, but Shiro glimpsed only the mask that hid its face, the cowl over its head heavy and dark. 

“I’ve been watching you watching them,” the figure said before Shiro could question its entrance. The voice was warm and low, meant only for Shiro’s ears. “What are you looking for?”

Shiro let his initial surprise wash over him. Direct and to the point. He felt his lips twitch at the corners and he resisted the smile. Just barely. “I’m looking for a partner,” he said, pushing his beer aside, “on a quest.”

“What kind of ‘quest?’” the stranger asked, sounding wholly unimpressed already. He didn’t pull away, however, instead keeping his hidden eyes on the rest of the tavern.

The word ‘righteous’ was on the tip of Shiro’s tongue but something made him hesitate. He studied the man opposite him for a moment and caught sight of well-worn but well-cared for black leather where the stranger’s cloak didn’t shield him from sight. He had missed his boots, but Shiro assumed they were much the same. A ranger perhaps. Or a rogue, judging by how he had appeared to materialize from nowhere. Either would be wise choices on his mission, based on where they were heading.

Shiro leaned forward and dropped his voice lower. “I need to get into Galra territory and secure an artifact.” The stranger snorted. “A _magical_ artifact. One that would give the one who wields it great power.”

“And what would a paladin want with such a thing?” The stranger all but spat the words, dismissive and derisive; but whether it was Shiro’s oath or the quest itself that soured the man, Shiro couldn’t tell.

“It’s not for me,” Shiro answered. “It’s my mission to _find it_ and return with it. The power it wields...we have no need of it in peacetime, but if the Galra get to it first the wars will most certainly start anew.”

The cloaked man seemed to consider this and was silent for a time. “What is this trinket you seek?”

“You ever hear of the ‘Blade of Marmora?’”

The stranger went still. “A myth,” he said at last. “A child’s bedtime story.”

“So I thought as well,” Shiro said. “But the Galra warlords are searching for it according to reports from rangers in the field. It may be nothing but a myth, but they clearly don’t think so. We need to know for sure...and if it _is_ real, then we need to get to it before they do.”

The silence stretched between them and Shiro studied the cloaked man, wishing he could see his face, or even just his eyes. He could read a person’s character so much better when he could. He was at a disadvantage...something which he suspected the stranger knew. 

At last, the cloaked man said, “Dawn after next. East gate. I will meet you there. Bring your own horse.”

Shiro moved to reply, but the stranger had already stood and disappeared into the tavern’s crowd.

* * *

Shiro stood at the city’s east gate beside his mount—a black stallion who he had grown rather fond of during his last adventure—and waited for his traveling partner. As the minutes ticked by, and the sky above began to lighten, he allowed himself to doubt. Would the cloaked stranger change his mind? Had he in fact been a Galra spy? Shiro worried the inside of his cheek between his teeth, but continued to wait all the same.

Finally, a lone rider appeared, the red mare’s hooves clopping in the otherwise quiet cobblestone streets. Shiro’s traveling partner brought the mare to a stop beside him and his own mount, and Shiro saw that his whole face was hidden behind an ornate black mask.

“You’re early.” The warm voice from the tavern was muffled slightly behind the mask. 

“Or you’re late,” Shiro countered. 

“It’s not yet dawn,” the cloaked stranger observed, but Shiro caught the quick glance over his shoulder towards the horizon. “Even so,” the man said, “we should get moving. The further we are from the city come daylight the better.”

Shiro shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “We never made proper introductions the other night at the tavern. I’m Takashi Shirogane, a paladin—”

“I can see that.”

“—but I don’t know _your_ name.” 

“I’ll tell you all you’d like to know once we’re away from the city.”

“Why not now?” 

“Because there are _eyes_ and _ears_ , paladin,” the stranger said, frustration apparent. “It would be better for both of us if we were gone from here.”

Shiro squinted up at the masked face and listened to the light inside him, around him. Oddly enough, he found his reservations stemmed from the doubts in his mind and not his heart. “Will you give me your name, once we are underway?”

“Yes.”

“And will you remove your mask?”

“...if you would prefer it.”

“I would. I don’t like waiting for answers,” Shiro said before turning and pulling himself up atop the black stallion. As he took up the reins, he tipped his chin eastward. “Let’s go.”

They rode throughout the day in stony silence, traveling through the eastern woodlands that bordered the city and its outskirts. As the hamlets and cottages thinned and the forest grew wilder, it seemed to Shiro that the tension that had clung to his companion began to ebb. He kept his observations to himself, however, and spent his time studying the stranger. 

He was of slighter build, and shorter, but carried himself with confidence Shiro knew could only be gained from challenges overcome. His limited armor was road-weary but well-oiled leather, and dark like the rest of his clothing. There was a dagger with a worn grip sheathed at his hip, but beyond this he appeared unarmed. Shiro took a deep breath and turned his attention away. His curiosity would be the death of him, and reminded himself: _patience yields focus._ The man gave his word that all would be revealed; Shiro just had to wait.

The sun was nearly setting by the time they finally stopped for the day. As they dismounted and tied off their horses, Shiro couldn’t resist. “ _Now_ will you tell me what your name is?”

His companion groaned in obvious frustration, tossing their camp supplies to the ground at their feet. “Fine,” he said. Reaching up, he removed the mask and pulled back his hood in one fluid motion. Shiro felt his throat tighten and his mouth go dry.

The creature before him was Galra. Or part-Galra, it seemed. The tell-tale horns protruded from his brow and curled up over the crown of his head, tapering to sharp tips. His black hair was bound at the nape of his neck with a leather tie, but a small braid of brilliant violet stemming from behind his left ear hung separate, adorned in small silver cuffs. Gold eyes flashed from a face that was mottled by tan and purple splotches, as if an inkwell had tipped and stained his skin. Across his right cheek, there was an old burn scar.

He was— _Beautiful_. Shiro swallowed thickly and clenched his teeth shut to avoid embarrassing himself. He cleared his throat instead. “Galra?”

“Half,” the man said. “My father is human.”

Shiro nodded. “And your name?”

“‘Yorak’ is my Galra name. My Common name is ‘Keith.’”

“‘Keith,’” Shiro echoed, testing the name on his tongue. Then asked, “Do you have a preference for what you’d like to be called?”

The gold eyes blinked up at him, as if confused by the question. As if he’d never been asked before. And perhaps he hadn’t been. “I’ve… gotten used to ‘Keith.’ It’s what I use in the cities.”

“Alright Keith. I’m glad to make your acquaintance. You can call me ‘Shiro,’ if you’d like, since we’ll be traveling for awhile together.” He offered his hand. “I look forward to working with you.”

Keith eyed the hand with obvious suspicion for a moment but then took it with some hesitance. “Likewise.”

* * *

The road was long, and the road was hard. They spent their days on horseback, their nights making camp in the sprawling wilderness and checking their maps against their current heading. 

And when they weren’t doing that, they talked. Shiro regaled Keith with stories of his past exploits, relishing each time Keith offered his thoughts or laughed at the many, _many_ mishaps he and his fellow adventurers had suffered. And slowly… Keith opened up. 

Keith’s mother was a Marmoran Galra who fought with Kolivan and the allies during the Galra Wars. His father had been an officer. They had met and fallen in love surrounded by loss, a bright light amid so much death and destruction. They had hoped for a peaceful future but peacetime was dangerous for Galra...even those who had fought with the Alliance. His parents had therefore seen it as a blessing that he had been born pink and soft: visibly human...except for the tail. 

“My mother cut it off while I was still a baby,” Keith explained. “She thought it would help protect me, if things got bad. Little did they know that every year that went by I started to look more like her, until…” he gestured generally at himself, and Shiro took in the mottled skin and horns.

“Oops,” Shiro uttered before he could stop himself.

There was a beat of silence, and then Keith laughed. “Yeah, ‘oops.’ Eh, they didn’t know. And I don’t need the tail anyway. At least this way I don’t have to cut holes in all of my pants.”

Shiro did allow himself to laugh at this. “You don’t—you don’t have to— They _make_ pants for Galra, you know. ” 

“Yeah, at a _fee_.”

* * *

They had traveled for weeks without seeing a soul. But the closer they got to Galra territory, the wilder the terrain became. The light and life Shiro drew from the world around him courtesy his covenant felt...raw. Unrefined. Not _bad_ —certainly not—but untamed. It had its own beauty to it, a richness that felt thick and sweet, like honey straight from the honeycomb. 

But as the world around them grew wilder...the threat became greater. They tread softly and Keith avoided obvious routes through the wilderness around them. Their light banter and easy laughter had faded the deeper they went. They kept their fire low and their weapons close. 

For a time, nothing happened. Shiro knew better to let his guard down, but the tension inside him was coiled so tight he thought he might spring upon the next living creature they saw—regardless of whether they were friend or foe. He was not alone in this. Keith’s jaw often twitched as muscles clenched at any unknown sound, his hand never far from the dagger at his hip. 

Then one night, Shiro was shaken awake by his foot. His hand was on his sword before he even opened his eyes. He blinked up into the night sky, dawn light creeping at the edges of the treeline, and lowered his gaze to find Keith crouched at the end of his sleeping mat. His dagger was already drawn. 

That was all the warning he had before the bandits were upon them. Keith leapt forward to engage as Shiro disentangled himself from his cloak and got to his feet. A quick headcount gave him a party of about a dozen assailants. There was no insignia which ironically reassured him: these were murderers and thieves perhaps, but not Galra spies. 

“Hold,” Shiro ordered, channeling the energy around him into his voice. It worked: Keith retreated to Shiro’s side as the bandit he had crossed blades withdrew. “We mean you no harm,” Shiro told them. “Let us pass. No one needs to die today.” 

The bandits looked between them, bewildered. And then they laughed. One of them—the leader, Shiro assumed—stepped forward and spoke as he withdrew a blade that twisted like a serpent. “The only ones dying today will be you two. The rest is ours.”

Shiro smirked and shrugged. To Keith he said only, “It was worth a try.”

Keith snorted and held his dagger out before him. In a flash of light and purple sparks, it—it _transformed_. For a breathless moment, all eyes were on the half-Galra fighter brandishing a new blade in his hand. A wicked thing, it arced out from the hilt and pulsed with a faint purple light. 

“Special trinket, that,” the bandit leader mused, taking a step forward. 

Shiro and Keith readied themselves. “How many do you think you can take?” Shiro asked. 

“More than you, Old Timer,” Keith shot back with a dangerous grin. He didn’t bother to wait for Shiro’s retort, leaping headlong into the fray.

Shiro followed, adrenaline surging in his veins as he engaged their assailants. Shiro surmised that they were capable, but not formally trained, as he cut his way through them. Allegiance only to blood money. He couldn’t bear to think about what violence they had done to other wayward travelers throughout the realm. Shiro clenched his teeth and brought his sword down again and again.

Off to his side, Keith whirled and twisted, leapt and dodged...as if he was dancing amidst the violence around them. He had taken a position near their horses and supplies, defending their quest as much as their lives. Shiro kept one eye on him as often as he could spare it.

The skirmish had to have been only a few minutes, but it felt to Shiro like ages. He had forgotten how easily battles of life and death, good and evil warped all sense of time. The last of his assailants fell to his sword and Shiro turned to find Keith and the bandits’ leader locked in a heated battle. 

And then, that awful stillness.

From the distance that separated them in the small clearing, Shiro saw shock on Keith’s face and knew what had happened. It flooded Shiro’s vision red as he bolted forward and brought his sword down on the bandit in a killing blow with a rageful cry. Keith stumbled backward, collapsing against a tree before sliding to the forest floor below. His fingers lost their grip on his curved sword, the Marmoran blade transforming back into a dagger as it hit the earth.

Enemies dead and promptly forgotten, Shiro rushed to Keith’s side and dropped to his knees before his fallen companion. “Keith! Keith, stay with me.” Keith could only groan in reply, his gaze losing focus with each breath he took. 

Shiro swallowed and set aside his sword. An oath on his lips, Shiro pressed his hands to the wound staining Keith’s tunic red. Warmth blossomed from his hands and he closed his eyes against the radiance that glowed there. With deep, even breaths he channeled the life around him, the _light_ around him. Keith groaned again as the wound mended, stitching itself back together beneath Shiro’s steady hands. 

As the light faded, Shiro opened his eyes once more and came face-to-face with wide golden eyes. “What in the nine hells was that?” Keith asked, voice weak.

“I’ll explain later,” Shiro said, gathering their discarded blades and hefting both himself and Keith back to their feet. “Can you ride?” he asked. Keith nodded, and they made their way back to their skittish horses. 

They rode until the sun had crossed the sky overhead, until Shiro was at last certain they had put enough distance between them and what was left of the bandits. Keith grimaced as he dismounted, Shiro urging him to sit while he went about setting up camp. 

“It’s too early to stop. We should keep going,” Keith said, even as his knees gave out and he collapsed exhausted to the earth beneath him.

“You’re in no shape to ride further,” Shiro answered, stating the obvious. “You may not be dying anymore, but you still need to rest. We can afford to camp earlier for that.”

Keith said nothing further, his gaze morose as he watched Shiro take stock of their surroundings and secure their perimeter. After a time, he murmured, “I can hear water.”

Shiro turned to face him—a question on his lips—but in the sudden stillness, he heard it too. “Which direction, you wager?” he asked, looking around them.

Keith smirked. “What do I get if I’m right?”

“Hopefully better food that the dried vittles we have.” 

“Not if _you’re_ cooking.”

Shiro chuckled. “I’ll leave you to tend the fire, not to worry.” He turned back to find Keith smiling up at him. It was a soft, tender thing given freely. Shiro returned the gift with a smile of his own. “I’ll see what I can find,” he said and then headed in the direction of water.

When he returned some time later with several fish in tow, Keith had a low fire going and had bundled himself up in his cloak. As they ate, the sun slipped away and darkness encroached once more. Settled in for the night, Keith finally asked, “What was that? That thing you did…”

“A gift,” Shiro said, sobering, eyes trained on the fire before him, “from the powers I serve. I wasn’t sure it would work.”

“Why not?”

Shiro sighed. “I killed a man.”

“You killed _several_ men,” Keith corrected, wrapping the blanket Shiro had given him tighter around his smaller frame. “So did I.” 

Shiro shook his head. “I killed a man in _anger_. I swore a vow to be righteous and defend the goodness and light in the world. I broke that vow today when I gave into my emotions, into the...rage and the fear I felt in that moment.” 

They lapsed into silence then, solemn and heavy. “So what do you need to do?”

Shiro took a deep, steadying breath. “Renew my vows. Seek absolution. Offer penitence.”

“I’m sorry we’re so far off the beaten path,” Keith murmured. “There are no priests or temples here.” 

Shiro turned to face Keith and offered him a sad smile. “We’re surrounded by my temple,” he said, gesturing to the woods around them. “My priests are the trees, the rivers, the earth underfoot, and the stars in the sky.”

Keith’s brow furrowed. “So what’s stopping you?”

“I need to be alone, to concentrate. And I don’t want to leave you.”

The words hung in the night air between them like sparks from the fire. Shiro’s eyes locked, wanting to say so much more. But Keith turned away then, a faint smile on his lips. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “And if any more bandits come back, I’ll sick the horses on them.”

Shiro laughed in spite of the warm, not unpleasant ache that spread within his chest. “You’re sure?” he asked.

Keith turned back to face him. “Go. Renew your oath. Make peace with the cosmos. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Promise?”

Keith gave him a soft smile. “I promise.”

* * *

For days, their travel was unimpeded and uneventful. Together they made good time through the wilds, following Keith’s keen sense of the roads less traveled. It took them through red canyons and ancient forests. The life around them practically _sang_ and Shiro—despite the growing dangers of their quest—couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Keith said as he rode beside him, his red mare sure-footed.

“What thing?”

“The thing where you look like you’re talking to the trees.”

Shiro chuckled. Keith wasn’t too far off-mark with his assessment. “It’s not like they speak in _words_ like we do. It’s more a _feeling_.” 

Keith considered this for a time before he asked, “What does the feeling tell you, then?”

“That this is a good path. That we shouldn’t stray from it.”

Keith worried his lower lip between his sharp teeth. “I...I was going to turn us northward.”

Shiro started at this. “Why?”

“There’s a bad smell up ahead. I’ve learned to avoid it.”

Shiro turned his senses to the breeze that kissed his cheeks and the trees that groaned overhead. “Humor me,” he said at last, turning back to Keith who had affixed him with a curious gaze. “Just this once. Trust me?”

Keith sighed and nodded and let Shiro take the lead for a time as they wove through the forest. At last, Shiro brought his black stallion to rest and dismounted, tying the reins off on a nearby tree. “We’ll camp here tonight,” he said. “But first, I want to show you something.”

Shiro spared Keith a reassuring grin and continued on the path by foot, weaving his way between ferns and thickets. Keith followed close behind, his boots barely making a sound on the forest floor. Then a clearing opened up before them. A dense, heavy mist filled the air and the temperature warmed around them. Near their feet, the sounds of bubbling water. Shiro grinned.

“What is that smell? Almost like—”

“Sulfur,” Shiro answered, finishing Keith’s sentence, and began to disrobe. “This place is a good place, meant for healing and meditation. No harm will come to us here.” The fog shifted as he moved and through the clouds Shiro spied the pool, deep and blue and welcoming. Once naked, Shiro stepped gingerly forward into the bubbling water. He tested the depth of the pool and satisfied it went no further than his chest, collapsed backward against the edge with a deep sigh of relief.

There was a moment of silence. And then Keith asked, “Do you enjoy boiling yourself?”

Shiro laughed and tilted his head back on his shoulders to look up at Keith, who was watching him with no small amount of concern. “It’s a hot spring,” Shiro told him, splashing water in his general direction. Keith recoiled a step, startled, but didn’t flee. “Get in. It’s safe.”

“You’re so sure of that,” Keith mused, sounding suspicious as he stepped closer towards the edge of the pool.

Shiro’s smile softened. “Quite sure. This is good for both of us. The long rides are brutal, and I know that despite your wound healing, your body is still recovering. We could both use it. Join me?”

Keith studied him for a moment longer before crossing to the opposite end of the pool. He began to undress, revealing enticing expanses of mottled tan-violet skin. A scar curved over his shoulder, another small one at the base of his spine...Shiro forced himself to turn away. It felt too much like taking advantage, and the thought made his stomach turn. 

“I don’t mind if you look,” Keith said from the opposite end of the pool, the water rippling as he stepped in. 

“I mind,” Shiro told him, waiting until he was certain Keith was shielded by the bubbling water to turn back and face him. “You _should_ mind.”

Keith only shrugged, smirking. “Modesty in close quarters is overrated.” 

Shiro hoped the heat in his cheeks could be explained away by the hot spring. 

* * *

They crossed into Galra territory unaccosted and without fanfare. Had Shiro not seen the old border marker—a stone set off to the side of their trail, worn nearly smooth by age and the elements—he would have assumed they had yet another day’s ride, so little did the terrain change. 

Keith continued to navigate them safely from harm’s way, avoiding known transit and patrol routes, keeping to the safety of the wilds themselves. 

When they finally made camp for the night, Shiro admitted he had a surprise. He withdrew a small wineskin from his satchel and passed it to Keith. “For getting us safely here,” he said. “I know we have a ways yet to go—”

“To say the least,” Keith said, taking a swig all the same.

“—but we’re alive for now, and that calls for some small celebration. Thank you, Keith,” Shiro continued, “for leading us safely to this point. May the rest of our journey be so fortunate.”

Despite the hostile territory, there was merriment that night...albeit quiet and reserved. They talked and teased and laughed, passing the small wineskin back and forth. It was enough to ease the hard ride, but not their senses. Their weapons were close at hand and the fire kept low.

All the same, it was a pleasant respite to follow the meandering course of easy conversation. Until at last they happened on one subject that Shiro was a bit embarrassed to admit he knew little about.

“You’re lying,” Keith said, passing the wineskin back to Shiro.

Shiro shook his head with a dry laugh. “Not lying. Never been in love,” he said, taking a swallow and stoppering the now-empty skin.

Keith leaned back on his elbow, body twisted to face him. “That’s hard to believe.”

“Why?” Shiro crossed his legs under him and let his hands rest on his knees. “Since I was a child, I was in the monastery. We had a strict regimen to hone our skills and our oaths. Romantic escapades were discouraged.” 

“Romantic escapades,’” Keith echoed and snorted. “Fine. What about _after_ then. You told me about your quest for vengeance, all the epic adventures you and your companions have been on...surely _someone_ piqued your interest…” 

Shiro again shook his head. “Being a paladin is fulfilling in its righteousness. But it also means you’re often on the move. Not exactly an ideal situation for setting down roots. And while on the road, there have certainly been those who have… _approached_ me, what they are interested was never ‘love.’”

“Eh, well. That’s probably true,” Keith admitted and tossed a stray bit of kindling into the fire before them. His eyes on the flames, he mused, “My mother once told me that to love and be loved in return was to take the light into yourself fully. Love, she said, was stronger than hate and all the evil things that sprung from it. It was the most powerful thing a person could hold within them. It was powerful because you gave it away to others.” Keith paused and looked back at Shiro. “I’m no paladin but it sounds similar, doesn’t it?”

Shiro hummed and nodded, thoughtful. After a moment, he asked the question that had been on his lips since the conversation began. “Have _you_ ever been in love, Keith?”

Keith took a deep breath, his gaze turning inward. “Once. He…he was my best friend. I learned so much from him. And yes, we loved each other. When he loved me and I loved him… the air was somehow easier and harder to breathe. The future was exciting and terrifying at the same time. A sublime kind of love.”

“What happened?” Shiro dared ask. 

Keith was quiet for a time. “He died.”

The bottom fell out of Shiro’s stomach and he swallowed past the sudden tightness in his throat. “I’m so sorry Keith. I shouldn’t’ve—”

“No, I’m glad you asked,” Keith said, his gold eyes refocusing on Shiro’s face. “It means he was real, what we had was real. The memories are all I have left of him...and I like thinking about the good memories.” Keith’s face softened then and he offered Shiro a reassuring smile. “But it stands to reason,” he continued, his tone lighter as he redirected their conversation, “that if _I_ can find a lover, then _you_ most certainly can.”

Shiro followed Keith’s lead, turning their attention back on himself. “And how’s that?”

“You’re a good looking man,” Keith said, smirking. “And you’re a paladin to boot, which makes you a _good_ man. One could easily love you.”

Shiro mirrored Keith’s playful smile and thought, _But could I be loved by_ **_you_ ** _, Keith?_

* * *

Keith had to get them to safety, and get Shiro warm. A two step-process that was proving tremendously difficult. Their mounts lost, the storm raging overhead, and a band of Galra raiders presumably still on their trail… Keith had had better days, to be sure. He took another breath, repositioned Shiro’s arm across his shoulders, and pressed forward towards the rocky outcropping up ahead. 

They had just made camp when the attack began and Keith had cursed himself for being caught by surprise. A frantic hope as the skirmish began that their assailants were just another band of thieves, was quickly thwarted. If the insignia on the raiders’ shoulders could be believed, they belonged to Sendak—one of the Galra warlords patrolling these lands in the years following the Empire’s collapse—and they were upon them before either Keith or Shiro knew they had been followed. Professional, well-trained, well-armed.

Keith and Shiro had put up a good fight, but not without consequences. Both of them had been thrown from their horses when the attack began, and the mounts had fled into the underbrush with their supplies. Blades at the ready, they fought hard...narrowly avoiding being separated from one another as the raiders surged forward and back, attacks coming from all sides. 

At last there was a reprieve as the attackers retreated...but not before one of their poisoned blades struck true, catching Shiro in a weak point of his armor.

Keith knew they had only a narrow window of escape and so they had fled on foot, Keith doing his best to use the terrain and the storm to their advantage. If they could get out of the woods, perhaps they’d be safe enough amongst the rocks… 

“Why aren’t you using your glowing hands trick?” Keith asked between clenched teeth as he struggled with Shiro’s added weight. 

“Busy. Concentrating.”

That didn’t bode well. He tightened his grip on Shiro and pressed onward.

Together they clawed their way into the rocks and down into a shallow cave. It was dry and empty and would have to suffice. Keith collapsed to the floor with a groan, taking Shiro with him. Rolling over, he knelt beside his friend and with the last of his energy pulled them both to the back of the cave. Shaking with cold, they clung together and Ketih hoped their progress had not been tracked in the flashes of lightning that scored the skies overhead.

His hope was lost, when a figure appeared at the cave entrance, followed by another and another… Keith reached for his blade—

“Don’t,” Shiro whispered between clenched teeth. “Don’t. Move.”

“What—”

The figures at the mouth of the cave stepped forward and scanned the dark before them. Keith knew all too well how good Galra night vision was. They were surely dead—

But then the figures retreated, shaking their heads and continuing on their way.

Keith sat in stunned silence for a time, and then turned to Shiro. The paladin’s bottomless gray eyes were unfocused as he stared straight ahead, as if unaware of the world around him. “Shiro…” Keith began, hesitant. “What did they see?”

“An empty cave,” his friend answered, voice weak with fatigue. “That’s all they’ll see while we’re here.”

“You’re shielding us,” Keith surmised, which earned him a nod. He almost asked ‘how,’ but then thought back to when their roles were reversed earlier in their journey. _The trees, the rivers, the earth underfoot, and the stars in the sky._ “Is this why you’re not healing?”

“I am healing,” Shiro answered, swallowing thickly, “just slowly.”

“And if you drop the shield...they’ll find us.” Shiro nodded again, looking pained. Keith sighed. “Okay. Let’s see what I can do in the meantime…”

* * *

Once the worst of the storm had passed—leaving the world damp and dreary in its wake—Keith had set out in search of kindling and any possible firewood that was not entirely waterlogged. With luck and no small amount of stubborn perseverance, he had managed to get a small fire going that didn’t smoke them out of their shelter. 

As they dried their wares and ate a meager dinner, Keith watched Shiro from the corner of his eye. The paladin had been quiet, pale, and drawn. The Galra poison had struck true and their whereabouts had been severely compromised. As such, Shiro was wholly focused on channeling the energy and power from his oath into their protection. Using that power to heal his wound would have to wait.

It worried Keith, seeing Shiro like this. The paladin was a prime example of his class, to be sure, but he was also...kind. And gentle and thoughtful. Driven and stubborn like Keith himself, but not so absorbed with his divine mission to dismiss anything else. Keith wondered if perhaps it had to do with the oath Shiro had taken… _Stars in the sky…_

There was something to that, to _him_. A radiance that came from within and around him, not levied by some deity’s precocious favor. It was older, kinder— 

_Beautiful._ Keith gnawed on his lower lip to keep his unruly thoughts to himself. Yes, Shiro was beautiful. And yes, Keith liked him. A lot. _A lot,_ a lot. But they had a mission, he told himself, and Shiro needed his help. Shiro needed him.

Keith swallowed past the vise that tightened around his throat at the thought. For so long, he had firmly believed that he was best on his own: wary and independent like so much of his Galra kin, Marmoran or otherwise… But this quest had gotten under his skin and drilled into his bones until it was part of him. He had the chance to do something good, something great. 

He latched onto that thread of greatness and cleared his throat. “What do you know about the Marmora legend?” Keith asked, prodding fire with a stick. 

Shiro hummed. “Only what Allura and Kolivan gave us,” he admitted, gaze falling on the fire before them. His gray eyes looked molten in the dim light. 

Keith swallowed and turned back to the flames. “You know about the Galra though. Why we look like this and all…”

“Tell me your version.”

Keith looked up and found Shiro watching him and where Keith’s instincts told him there would be suspicion, he saw only tenderness. Affection even, if he allowed himself to entertain the idea. He turned away again, taking a steadying breath and willing the sudden flush in his cheeks to subside.

“Ages ago, Zarkon made a deal with Asmodeus, the Overlord of the Nine Hells. It prolonged his life, and that of his witch Haggar and her Druids. Good for him and his kin...bad for everyone else. Zarkon’s appetite for conquest and the bloodshed that went with it condemned the entire Galra race. We were to be the villains in everyone’s stories, from then until the world ended.

“One clan didn’t fall in line, however. Marmora _resisted_ the Empire, both in secret and on the battlefield. But the only way they stood any chance at all against Zarkon’s war machine was that Marmora himself had made his _own_ deal. Not with Asmodeus. Not with the Heavens either. Some stories say that the divine pantheon wanted nothing to do with any of it, more interested in their own devotees than an entire race claimed by Hell. Others say that Marmora didn’t even bother asking. Instead, Marmora swore an oath and his sword to the light itself and promised that his clan would be a beacon in the darkness, for as long as his clan survived.”

Keith paused and swallowed, thinking back to his trials, and rubbed at the scar in his shoulder. “Legend has it that Marmora’s sword itself was imbued with some great, cosmic power. But the pragmatist would argue that the real power came from what it stood for: honor, valor, bravery sure. But justice, righteousness, good.” He looked up at Shiro. “Kind of like your own oath, I’d recon.”

Shiro smiled. “Quite.” 

They sat in silence for a time, the fire crackling before them. Keith watched the embers glow, lost in thought. When he finally spoke again, his voice was only a murmur and heavy with conviction. “The Galra—what’s left of the Empire—they don’t understand. They think Marmora’s Blade will restore their glory. But that’s not what the blade is.” 

Keith turned his gaze back on Shiro and found the paladin thoughtful and attentive. “It’s not a weapon we seek,” he explained. “It’s a promise. One I intend to keep. And I would rather die than let the Blade fall into their hands.”

* * *

If they hadn’t known what to look for, Marmora’s tomb would have appeared to be just another fallen stone among many. Shiro realized that had to have been intentional, given Zarkon’s rein and the war machine that he had let loose on the realm. For a fearless leader to be enshrined right under the Emperor’s proverbial nose seemed both apt, knowing what he knew of the Blades’ rebellion. 

Keith and Shiro wove their precarious way into the cavern and the deeper they went, the more apparent its purpose became. Natural pathways carved by running water became paved with stone. Stalagmites formed crude mounts for candles and torches. They wove their way deeper into the cave network, their own torches serving as faint beacons in the dark, until at last they came upon a slab of a door...sealed and unbroken.

“We should check for traps,” Shiro suggested.

Keith only shook his head and gestured at the inscription over the door. “‘In life there is death. In knowledge there is peace,’” he translated, turning to Shiro. “This is a place for mourning and contemplation. There won’t be any traps here.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“I _know_ that.” 

There was something to Keith’s answer that broached no room for argument, but Shiro felt he had missed some subtle understanding of the words presented to them. Something perhaps only a Blade would recognize. So Shiro nodded and stepped forward to help Keith move aside the door. 

A rush of stale air burst from the tomb as they moved the slab door aside. Shiro deftly grabbed his torch to hold the flame away from the sudden gust and watched Keith’s nearly gutter. Nearly. He breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped into the tomb together.

Marmora’s tomb was of modest size, the room making use of the natural grotto of the cave and reinforced with Galra masonry. Stone carvings lined the curved walls, telling stories Shiro didn’t know, and the dome overhead was painted in flaking lacquer of a starry night sky. Shiro was stunned into silence at the beauty of it. The tomb truly was just as Keith said: a place for contemplation. 

Keith paid little attention to the artistry around him, intent on the stone sarcophagus that sat under one curved ceiling cut away from the rest of the antechamber. “Help me move this,” he called over his shoulder.

“The—you want me to—”

“Shiro,” Keith began, sounding frustrated and no small part amused, “the Blade will be in here with him, if the materials your queen gave you are right. Help me move the lid.”

Shiro sighed and strode forward, setting his torch into a nearby sconce and bracing his hands against the lid of the sarcophagus next to Keith. “We’ll replace it before we leave,” he said.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course…”

On a count of three, they shoved their combined weight forward and the stone lid slid sideways. A musty smell hit both of them and they recoiled before Marmora’s mummified remains. Bound in rotting linens, the corpse was little more than a skeleton...but inside the sarcophagus told a universal tale of a beloved leader. Gold medallions, dried flowers, beaded jewelry, painted pottery, weapons, and even a crude flute…

But no blade. 

“Oh no,” Keith whispered and Shiro felt the terror rise up to choke him.

“Could it have been taken before we got here?” Shiro asked.

Keith shook his head, disbelieving. “Impossible. The tomb was sealed and there’s no other way into this chamber.” Keith swept his torch throughout the room, the light drifting over carved stone, the sarcophagus before them, the grave goods and decaying offerings of ages past… 

“Wait…” Keith murmured, stepping away from the sarcophagus and closer to the scalloped wall under which Marmora was entombed. He ran hand over the inscription, squinting in the dim light. “Give me the translation again.” Shiro stepped forward and handed the parchment over, its Galra and Common transcription in fading ink. Keith read the ancient writing and looked back up at the even older engraving. “It’s wrong,” he said.

Shiro felt his stomach roil, bracing for an unforeseen attack. “What do you mean?” 

“The _transcript_ is wrong,” Keith clarified, passing it back to him. “The word there—” he said, pointing at the parchment cradled in Shiro’s hands, “—uses the Galra word for _final_ resting place or ‘tomb.’ The Galra word _here_ —” Keith touched the stone wall before them, “—uses the Galra word for _place of rest._ ”

The tension in Shiro’s shoulders faded. Not a trap; a mistake. “And...they’re different?”

“ _Quite_ different,” Keith confirmed and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a very creative expletive. He turned to Shiro, his eyes wide and excited. “For Galra, land was never sacred or safe. Too many warring factions meant you were never at rest. You were constantly fighting for control of domain and resources. It was in _people_ who you found respite, specifically your clan and your kin. Marmora’s Blade isn’t here; it was _never_ here. When he died...they gave it to his kin!”

* * *

The morning they set off for home brought good tidings: Shiro’s black stallion reappeared near a creek, Keith’s red mare in tow. 

“Figures they’d leave us hanging until now,” Keith muttered as they approached their horses.

Shiro chuckled as he took the stallion’s reins in hand. “Black always comes back to me, regardless of how we’re separated. It’s something like fate, that we should always find each other.”

There was a momentous pause...and then Keith asked, incredulous, “His name is ‘Black?’”

Flustered, Shiro could only manage, “What?”

“You named your black horse, ‘Black.’ That’s ridiculous.”

Shiro laughed and stroked the horse’s nose. “Well what’s _your_ horse’s name?” he asked, and turned to find Keith’s cheeks coloring. “It’s ‘Red,’ isn’t it?” Shiro guessed. “Who’s ridiculous now?”

Keith only laughed and saddled up for their ride home.

If the road was long and hard on the trek to Marmora’s Tomb, it was all the more so on the return. Their route was blessedly free of bandits, and they avoided running into Sendak’s raiders a second time. Still, neither truly breathed easy until they were back across the border and well within Alliance territory once more. 

But the closer they got to home...the more something unseen and heavy settled over them, coloring their banter and progress with what felt like grief. Harboring a guess that Keith at least was brooding over their failed quest to bring the Blade of Marmora home, he assured his companion that if they did not have it, surely neither did the Galra warlords. Keith waved off his concern but said little else on the matter. And yet that heaviness persisted. Shiro knew the reason for his own malaise, but didn’t dare guess if perhaps Keith felt the same.

Only a few days’ ride from the capital and the end of their journey, Shiro finally felt his bravery return. “Will you stay with me?” he asked.

Keith looked up from their fire, gold eyes betraying his surprise. Shiro swallowed back the fear that threatened to choke his hope and willed himself to wait. Keith turned from the fire and shifted to sit beside Shiro, so close that their legs touched, and took his hand in his own. “Would you love me,” Keith asked, his eyes fixed on Shiro’s face, “and let me love you in return?”

Shiro felt the tears well in his eyes. Reaching up with his free hand, he cradled Keith’s cheek against his palm and kissed him.

* * *

Shiro returned to Queen Allura’s court with a Galra companion in tow, which garnered far more attention from the ruling elite than a lone paladin ever would. He could feel Keith tensing beside him, and so Shiro took his hand in his own, heedless of the murmurs that followed the action. Heads held high, they strode into Allura’s inner throne chambers to report on his quest. 

“Shiro!” Allura greeted warmly, but her smile faltered for the briefest moment when she caught sight of Keith. “Oh…”

“Yorak?”

Turning, Shiro saw Kolivan—the Blade Leader and one of their most trusted allies—take several steps forward, his gold eyes locked on Keith.

“You know this Galra?” Allura asked.

“Yes, your majesty,” Kolivan answered. “He’s one of ours. Though he is rarely where I expect him to be…”

Keith saluted, fist to his chest. “There was a paladin in need, Sir. I took the initiative.” 

Shiro offered a reassuring smile at both the Blade Leader and Allura. “Keith has been a great asset on my journey and has become a good friend. We are lucky to have such skilled allies in our midst.”

This seemed to allay any of Allura’s concerns and she nodded. “Quite right. Thank you Keith, for your service to the realm. Now please—tell us of your quest for the Blade of Marmora.”

“We found Marmora’s tomb,” Shiro began, “sealed and undisturbed as it had been for centuries. But the Blade itself was not there.”

Allura’s expression clouded. “What do you mean?”

“The legends and ancient texts you provided were accurate with one exception: the transcription of the Blade’s location. The words used indicated the Blade was put to rest with Marmora, indicating the tomb itself. However, the transcription _at the tomb_ read differently.”

“The Blade was put to rest with Marmora,” Keith said, stepping forward. “Specifically, Mamora’s _place of rest_ . His _kin_ , not his tomb.”

Shiro saw realization dawn on both Kolivan and Allura. “The Blades of Marmora have long since abandoned bloodlines,” he said, “something which earned them their exile amongst the other races and species across the realm. Kinship is granted through trials and perseverance rather than heritage alone. Marmora’s blade itself—I fear—is lost to time.” 

Allura visibly deflated, her hands clutched before her. She turned to Kolivan and said, “I’m so sorry Kolivan.” 

The Marmoran Galra straightened, schooling his infernal features and embracing the burden of failure. “If it is lost, then it is lost. And we will pray that the warlords do not discover its whereabouts.” Turning to Allura, he bowed. “Thank you, your majesty, for entertaining this old fool’s errand.” 

Allura shook her head and reached out to touch Kolivan’s forearm. “The legend of Marmora and his blade unifies and brings hope. Perhaps that is all we can ask of it.” Kolivan acknowledged with a nod and then Allura stepped away, closing the distance with Shiro and Keith. She took Shiro’s hand in hers first with a word of thanks, and then mimicked the same gesture with Keith. “Thank you for accompanying our paladin on this quest,” she said, “and for bringing him back safely.”

“He gave me a run for my money a few times...” Keith admitted with a sidelong glance. Shiro scoffed.

Allura only smiled. “He does tend to do that.” But then her eyes were drawn down to Keith’s hip where a faint light pulsed. “I’m—I’m sorry, but…”

“Oh!” Keith released her hands and stepped back to withdraw the blade from its sheath. Once in-hand, it transformed in a flash of light into the wicked curved sword Shiro had seen so much of over their travels. The energy around it thrummed with each pulse of its violet light as Keith presented it to Allura in his palms. “Don’t be alarmed,” Keith assured her. “It’s a Marmoran blade, which we are granted one once we complete our trials. This was originally my mother’s, which she passed to me.”

“Do they all transform like that?” Allura asked, admiring the metalwork.

“They do indeed,” Kolivan said, stepping forward. He grasped the hilt of the dagger at his waist and held it before him as the dagger reformed into a hooked weapon. He then added, “But they do not glow like that.”

Silence swelled among them. And then all eyes turned to Keith. “Where did you say you got this,” Allura asked.

“My mother,” Keith answered, suspicion edging into his voice.

“And where did she get it?”

“Her father.” The suspicion tipped into belligerence. Shiro bit his tongue to keep from grinning.

“And where did her father get it?” Kolivan asked, stepping closer and re-sheathing his dagger. 

Keith huffed. “You’d have to ask her.”

Kolivan turned to Allura. “I’ll send a message to Krolia, though I suspect it will take her a few days’ ride to get here.” To Keith, he ordered, “You will not leave the city walls.” 

Keith squinted up at the Blade Leader. “I wasn’t planning on it,” he answered. Kolivan offered Allura a final bow before turning on his heels and leaving the room. 

Silence once again fell upon them, tense and coiled this time. Keith’s eyes jumped between Allura and Shiro. “What’s this all about?”

Allura smiled at Keith, bright and excited. “Shiro, do you have the sketches I gave you?”

Withdrawing the folio from his satchel, Shiro presented it to her. Allura unwound its leather bindings and flipped through the documents that had become more waterlogged and damaged over the course of their many months on the road. The queen seemed not to notice, finally alighting on one piece of parchment with a soft laugh. She took it between her fingers and turned it to face them. 

Shiro swallowed thickly. Keith went still.

An artist’s rendering of the ancient sword from eons before, preserved and repainted again and again over time. The likeness was unmistakable.

Marmora’s Blade...was Keith’s.

* * *

Once Shiro had recovered from his initial shock, he had spent much of the last two days laughing. He couldn’t remember when he had felt so alive, so _bright_. Of course the company certainly helped. 

Shiro had returned to the Inn that had been his lodgings prior to their departure to find his room had been lent and would be for some time yet. Without a place to call ‘home’ for the time being, Keith had suggested he stay with him. His father’s home was plenty large enough and he was certain the man wouldn’t mind. So with uncharacteristically fraying nerves, Shiro followed Keith into the city until they reached Tex Firedog’s blacksmith shop. 

Tex was a large man, hands calloused and strong in ways that betrayed his fighter’s past and forge-bound present. He grinned wide and had welcomed Keith’s return with a rib-crushing hug. Shiro knew this because he had gotten one immediately afterward, once Keith had caught his breath enough to introduce him. It seemed to Shiro that the man’s only soft spot was his heart, which Shiro discovered to be Keith and Krolia—Tex’s Marmoran Galra wife—in equal measure. Shiro had been able to feel the love amongst them, simply watching them, and it soothed his world-weary soul to be privy to it even if he was only a bystander.

Shiro now sat at a simple, well-loved wooden table in the home adjacent to the blacksmith’s shop sipping ale alongside Tex while Krolia and Keith bickered. 

“How could you not tell me?” Keith demanded.

“You were practically a child,” Krolia said, dismissing the topic with a wave of her clawed hand. “You would not have understood the magnitude of it at the time.”

“I could have hawked it,” he challenged, “if things got bad—”

“Never. Especially not after your trials.”

Keith sighed and seemed to accept this. “Probably.”

“‘Probably,’” Krolia echoed and scoffed, pointing to the door. “You would have danced around outside in your skivvies [1] for spare change before you hawked the blade.”

Shiro nearly choked on his ale at the mental image, which earned a hearty clap on the back from Tex who sat beside him. Blushing, Shiro sputtered a word of thanks. 

For a time, they watched Krolia and Keith as the argument faded and was replaced by retellings of their respective exploits. And then Tex said, his voice low for Shiro’s ears only, “Your armor’s seen better days.”

Shiro winced. “I don’t have the coin to fix it, much less replace it.” 

“I could work it for you.” 

“But I don’t have the coin—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tex said, bracing his arms on the table between them and leaning in close. 

Shiro shook his head. “I can’t accept that kindness, Sir. It’s too much.”

“Consider it part of the dowry.” At this, Shiro’s eyes went wide and his face warmed. Tex only smirked. “You’re not subtle,” he said, “and neither is my son.”

“But you hardly know me—”

“Perhaps, but I know Keith. He’s always been a good judge of character, and you’re no exception. I can see that plain as day. But… if you’d like to keep things on the up-and-up, seeing as you’re a paladin and all…” Tex gave him a knowing smile as he brought his ale to his lips, “You should propose soon, before I take your armor out to the forge.”

Shiro grinned. “Yes, Sir.”

* * *

_EPILOGUE_

Shiro stood atop a rocky outcropping worn smooth with time. Beside him a waterfall cascaded in a roaring torrent, crashing into a dark pool far below. Overhead, dusk settled in rich violet and the twinkling light of distant stars puncturing the oncoming night. 

Before him stood the love of his life. 

The two of them stood on the outcropping together, barefoot and hand in hand. Dressed in simple tunics and surrounded by their loved ones, the ceremony was presided over by the trees and the rivers, the earth underfoot, and the stars in the sky. They swore an oath to each other—to love and live happily ever after.


	2. Character Background

**Yorak (infernal name) or Keith (“virtue” / human name)**

Race: Half-Tiefling

Alignment: Fighter

Allegiance: Marmora Clan

Personality Description: distrustful and wary of others, independent, loyal

Physical Description: short with a slight but muscular build, gold eyes (no visible sclera), skin is a tan-violet vitiligo, his horns protrude from his brow and curl backward over the crown of his head to end in sharp points, black hair with a violet streak stemming from behind his left ear (which he keeps braided and adorned with silver cuffs. He is clothed in light armor and cloaks more suitable for a ranger than a fighter (Keith prefers it as he feels he can move faster with it). Three major scars - one on his right shoulder from his trials, a small one at the base of his spine where his tail was removed as a baby, and one on his right cheek left by a lover. 

Backstory: Father (Tex Firedog) is a blacksmith and former fighter, mother (Krolia) is a Tiefling Marmora Ranger who fought in the Galra Wars while his father was in the rank and file. They met during the Wars and fell in love. When Keith was first born, he looked entirely human save for the tail - which his parents removed to help keep him safe (Mamora are of Galra descent despite fighting with the Alliance - their physical appearance often made life unsafe both during and after the Wars and still results in severe prejudice in peacetime). But as Keith aged, his purple vitiligo and horns began to appear and betrayed his mixed heritage. 

  
  


**Takashi 'Shiro' Shirogane**

Race: Human

Alignment: Paladin

Allegiance: None official but is of alliance stock

Personality Description: Kind, patient, empathic, has a bit of a hero complex but welcomes cooperation and friendship and therefore doesn’t allow his pride to self-sabotage

Physical Description: tall and broad, strong, covered in scars from past battles and quests, his hair has gone silver, his right arm is missing - he uses a magical prosthesis courtesy his friends and allies. 

Backstory: Takashi “Shiro” Shirogane had been selected for paladin training at an early age. His master, D'Jahno, and his monastery were destroyed by a demon which propelled Shiro on a quest to avenge his brethren and fight evil. His exploits have led him into a close partnership and friendship with others - Block the Human Sorcerer, Meklavar the Dwarven Miner, Pike the  Thief Ninja Assassin, and Allura the Mystical Archer (and Princess!) of Valley Yoon. But as each of their respective quests draws to a close and peace prevails across the realm, Shiro finds himself struggling to cope not only with his past but the life ahead of him. What does a paladin do when evil seems to be defeated?

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Naked mailbox dancing is a time-honored tradition in World of Warcraft


End file.
